


Out of Kilter

by divingforstones



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Burnout - Freeform, First Kiss, James explains a thing or two, M/M, Post S7, Retirement, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divingforstones/pseuds/divingforstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve somehow managed to get cut adrift from one another in the early days of Robbie’s retirement. </p><p>But James has a tendency to make speeches when he’s drunk. </p><p>Luckily for Robbie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of Kilter

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to wendymr for being such a helpful beta-reader and all the encouragement on this.

 

 

 

 

**Out of Kilter**

 

 

 

 

Robbie reaches for his phone, glancing at the caller display. Laura. “Robbie? I was out for a drink and I’ve run into James. And he’s in no fit state to be out on his own.”

_“James_ isn’t?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Where are you?”

“White Horse _._ And, Robbie, look, the person I was meeting for a drink—” She sounds awkward, which she shouldn’t. He knows it’s obviously Franco. She knows that’s not a problem.

“—it’s Jean.”

Oh, Christ. Robbie closes his eyes for a moment.

“Have you left a drunken James alone with Innocent while you’re outside phoning me?”

“Well—”

***

It’s a lovely summer’s evening outside as Robbie heads for his car. It’s the kind of long Friday evening that’s almost made for sitting outside a pub, chewing over the past week, in the light of the more relaxed glow made up of the pint, the surroundings and the company. Bantering with someone whose quick wit and warm presence help you decompress, or maybe just enjoying the silences. Would’ve been better than the rather restless, unsettled evening Robbie had been enduring.

So what’s James think he’s at, going out drinking by himself?

In the few weeks since Robbie’s official departure from the force, he’s certainly texted suggestions to James that they must get together for a pint. When that hadn’t exactly materialised into a definite arrangement, he’d taken to sending cheerful updates about his new activities instead, which had virtually invited snarky comments. They hadn’t been forthcoming either. James’s replies had been pleasant and vague and hadn’t had much punch to them somehow. It was sort of hard to get a handle on him at the moment.

If Robbie had tried to date this certain elusiveness of James’s—and all right, then, so he has tried—then he’d have said it rather dated from the time he and Laura broke things off. Which was, of course, exactly the time that the clock had really begun to run down on Robbie’s retirement. James had become just slightly withdrawn. Matter-of-factly sympathetic over Robbie’s and Laura’s break-up, although not exactly—reacting much to it, either.

Not seeing him day-to-day now—well, it makes it that bit harder to wait out whatever’s going on in James’s head. It’s one thing giving him space when he’s actually still got him there. Robbie’s used to that. It’s quite another thing altogether when he doesn’t get to see him.

Well, the bloke has a lot of swotting up to do, Robbie had reasoned. For a new department. And, he’d supposed, James had new colleagues to make the effort to bond with over a pint, too.  Not really on for Robbie to mind, in the circumstances. And yet—he really wouldn’t have thought somehow that he’d have slipped already down James’s priority list. It fits all the facts, but intuition was always one of Robbie’s strengths as a detective, seeing where something felt wrong even if all the facts were pointing in one direction. And there’s something off about this.

The eventual solution thrashed out between James and Innocent had left Robbie thoroughly relieved.  Only days after James had done as he’d said he would and tried to make his resignation official, Innocent had dropped by their office on a quiet afternoon, and raised the topic again. Robbie, well aware of her increasingly exasperated glances in his own direction, had kept his focus on his computer screen. He wasn’t going to join in with her interrogation. Even if she sort of had a point.

Because Innocent was asking about James’s next step with a mixture of suppressed frustration and, Robbie detected, real concern. It didn’t surprise him. She’d be deeply uncomfortable to think one of her officers was so burnt out by the job that he was simply leaving with no further plans. Robbie was with her on that bit. James was the last person who needed surplus time on his hands to think. Robbie had had an inspector like that once.

As Innocent had departed, not in the least satisfied, Robbie had lifted his gaze to James. He was gazing out the window now. He’d looked slightly helpless. And that obviously didn’t stem from any inability to evade Innocent’s queries.

“Dearden’s looking to expand the team for his project now,” Robbie had offered.

“What, crime prevention by computer analysis? Interspersed with a little light detecting? Home in time for tea?”

“Might do you no harm for once,” Robbie had said imperturbably _._ There had always been moments with James when he needed Robbie to see straight through the sarcasm. This had felt like one of those moments.

That feeling of urgency, to somehow have James sorted before Robbie left, had returned full force when he’d seen his sergeant already starting to torment himself trying to figure out what to do next. Even though he wasn’t really in the best state to make major life decisions.

Robbie wasn’t going to push this. He’d just make sure James knew he had options. And that he didn't have to find a long-term, fulfilling, worthwhile option, drawing on all his talents, right this minute.  Sometimes James, for all his analysis, missed seeing the simple things. _You don’t have to try righting the wrongs of the world every day, lad,_ he’d wanted to say _. You could give yourself a break._ But anything that touched too close to home wasn’t the best idea at the moment. James didn’t feel he’d righted any wrongs on their last case. He felt he’d contributed to more.

James had been looking across at him, questioning.

Robbie had taken his chance. “Look, Innocent wants to keep you that much, she’d likely let you shift to something less gruelling. ‘S’all right to just tread water for a bit sometimes. Buy yourself some time. You could leave this job, our job, without actually abandoning your whole career. Don’t have to throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

James had looked rather startled. But his chin had jutted up a bit in that way it did when he was thinking. The way it did when he was acknowledging to himself that someone had made a noteworthy point.

“Indeed, what shall I do, sir,” he’d said lightly, after a moment, “when I no longer have your daily homespun wisdom to shed light upon my tortured musings?”

“You’ll pay your new governor a bit more heed, and give him less cheek, that’s what,” Robbie had grumbled.

And they had looked at each other for a moment across their desks, as the reality of this ending caught up with them once more. Before, as ever, turning back to their work.

But that evening James had tapped him on the shoulder, as they made their way out of the building, and when Robbie had turned, he had lifted a hand in farewell and veered off in the direction of Innocent’s office instead.

Robbie had waited until it was all a bit more final to tell Laura. They'd still been together then. “Could work for him,” she’d said, interested. “Have you told him that’s pretty much how you landed up overseas? Taking a secondment instead of leaving the force?”

_“No_ ,” Robbie had said, much too sharply, and then in answer to the lift of her eyebrows; “No need to put ideas like that into his head, is there?”

She’d just looked at him. Well, James could work that one out for himself. Robbie didn’t even want to think about overseas options. Next thing he knew, James would be slinging on a rucksack and departing to do God knows what, God knows where. Probably, knowing James, literally following some sort of divine inspiration at the expense of his own wellbeing. Laura had just kept right on looking at him, though. She was good at that.

So Robbie should have been able to head into retirement with an easier mind. But it turns out something’s off with him now too. James would use terms like existential flu. Robbie thinks something’s out of kilter. And he hasn’t yet had the chance to think of casually musing around the topic deep into a second pint and hearing what some philosopher or poet had to offer. Why’s it so much bloody harder to text than it was to casually suggest a pint when they were both heading out of the office?

There’s something missing from Robbie’s day. And he’s pretty sure it’s not the dead bodies. Or the  callouts in the early hours. Or the endless paperwork. He knows full well that if he voiced this to anyone they’d have said it was early days and told him he was in the _first stages of the adjustment process to retirement,_ as Innocent’s repeated little talks, and her official onslaught of material, had both told him. She’d been merciless once she’d finally accepted he was really leaving. And of course, it’s a big change and could leave someone feeling as out of sorts as Robbie does.

But the trouble with that very reasonable theory is: it doesn’t feel like it’s true.

***

The pub is both crowded and noisy at this stage, slightly disorientating after the quiet of the drive, causing Robbie to make his way carefully around knots of people to get to the corner booth where the three of them are hemmed in. None of them spot him at first. Because James is holding forth. Robbie can tell he’s in a state from the very careful way he’s gesturing. Although he’s certainly seen him worse than this. But James obviously hasn’t made it home from work yet to change. Then Robbie tunes into the words.

To be precise, James is holding forth to his chief superintendent on exactly what he thinks of her management style. Her strengths and her weak points. Rather in the style of a performance review. Laura is looking highly amused. Innocent is just gazing at James. Then she spots Robbie.

“Well,” she says, getting up quickly, “that was certainly enlightening, sergeant. Many thanks. Must leave you in the capable hands of your ex-Inspector now. Dinner reservations—think we’ll just pretend _this_ one never happened,” she mutters as she passes Robbie. Robbie resists the urge to mutter _ma’am,_ in agreement.

“Bye, James,” says Laura cheerfully, as she rises to follow Innocent. “It’s been very entertaining—He seems to have been on whiskey. Get some water into him before bed,” she reminds Robbie as she pauses beside him.

Robbie gives her a quick grin. Whatever wrong’s with Robbie just now, he does know that it’s not the break-up of his fledgling relationship with Laura. He doesn’t feel he misses Laura herself because he’s still got her, essentially. Still got that friendship with her, mercifully not descending irrevocably into awkwardness.

Well, they weren’t going to allow that to happen long term. But thankfully it hadn’t taken long to rebalance. Thankfully, because Robbie is so used to having her as a part of his life in that way, to seeking her advice and her companionship at different times over the years, long before they’d really tried to turn the ease of that into something else. And, rather confusingly, failed.

He knows that’s not what’s wrong now, because their relationship attempt had ended very shortly after Robbie had begun to work his notice. It’s been over long enough for Laura to be rather swept up by the return of this Franco fellow, so that there’s an undeniable spark about her again now.

“Thanks,” Robbie says, “for phoning, like. And hanging on here. Lucky you spotted him.”

“He’s a bit hard to miss, to be honest.”

“Aye, he is that.” Robbie gives James an affectionate grin. It’s just good to see him again regardless. “Too bloody tall to blend into a crowd, even when you’re up to no good, aren’t you, lad?”

James doesn’t respond. He’s watching Robbie and Laura intently. Robbie slides into the booth right beside him as Laura departs. James has leaned his head on one hand, elbow on the table.  “Hello,” he says, very seriously, to Robbie.

“Hello, yourself.” Someone has already provided James with a glass of water. He nudges it towards him. “Drink that.” Then he watches while James obligingly complies.  James is always highly agreeable when truly drunk. Must be the missing sarcasm, reflects Robbie. “You ready to go home now?”

“You haven’t had a drink,” says James, concerned. “A pensioners’ special, isn’t that what I was to get you? On a _Tuesday.”_

“You’re all right. It’s Friday. And I’ve got the car.”

“Okay,” says James, getting up, reluctantly, following Robbie out of the booth. Robbie is surprised that the bloke can stand sort of steady. He puts an arm around his shoulders anyway, to guide him.  And it suddenly hits him.

He’s missed James. He’s physically missed James. His own indefinable scent and his warmth. Having that constant presence at his shoulder throughout the day, watchful and alert. The swell of amusement in those blue eyes and the quirk of those lips when Robbie turns his head to share a silent joke with him.

He’d known he’d missed having James around but, God, he has physically missed having the lad this bloody close to him. He pulls him into a hug.

“Nice,” says James approvingly in his ear, “should do this more often.” Then, surprising Robbie, James’s hand comes up for a brief moment and caresses Robbie’s cheek with his knuckles, turns Robbie’s head very gently into James’s shoulder, James’s neck. Then the hand is gone again and, worse, James is gone, stepping back to stand in front of Robbie, hands behind his back. Much as he does—much as he _used_ to do—when awaiting orders.

Robbie feels a bit shaky. He takes hold of James’s arm, and turns him, prompting him gently towards the door. There’s the urge to hold him again, touch him more. He puts his hand to the top of James’s head to prompt him to duck as he goes under first a low beam and then the even lower lintel. Robbie has to duck in this pub; James really shouldn’t be choosing it as a venue to get so drunk.

“Am I being arrested?” James enquires, rather concerned, as he feels his head cupped.

“No, you’re safe enough.  I haven’t even got me warrant card anymore.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” James remembers. “You had to give it back. It wasn’t _fair_ —"

He sounds suddenly very impassioned and Robbie tries to interrupt, to soothe; “It’s procedure—"

“—why d’you have to go and be _older_ than me anyway?”

Robbie, taken by surprise, has absolutely no answer for that.

***

By the time he pulls up outside James’s flat, he’s been treated to the most confusing flow of meandering discourses on all manner of topics. Almost as if the lad had had them all stored up for him for weeks. But Robbie’s none the wiser about what’s led to James getting into this state.

“We’re just getting your stuff for the night, all right?” he says once he can get a word in. That gives James pause.

He frowns at Robbie, interested. “Are we?”

“Yeah. You can come back to mine.” It’s not strictly necessary. James isn’t dangerously drunk. Which is strange, because it’s unlike Laura to exaggerate. But he wants James to come home with him, all the same. He has far more chance of getting to the bottom of what’s brought this on tomorrow morning, he tells himself. And quite honestly, now he’s got him beside him again, he just doesn’t feel like leaving him. “You stay here. I’ll be five minutes. Okay?”

“Okay,” says James obligingly. Life would probably have been a lot tamer over the past few years if James was half as co-operative sober as he is drunk, Robbie reflects. A lot easier and a whole lot less interesting.

The flat provides no clues as to what’s brought on this solitary drinking bout. It’s at the level of slight disarray that’s pretty normal for a Friday evening. Robbie should know. Friday evenings were always the most likely time for him to land up in here after all. Everything looks the same.

As he returns to the car, with James’s things thrown hastily in a bag, he can see that James, still sitting in the passenger seat, looks like he’s gone a bit quieter.

When he gets back in, Robbie sits and takes a long moment to look across at him. “You cut your hair,” he says abruptly.

“No, a barber did it,” explains James.

“Right, well, I just meant—”

“D’you not like it?”

“No.” He doesn’t. Is it the haircut making James’s face look a bit too thin, too angular? Or is it that he’s actually that bit skinnier? It’s only been a few weeks, he reminds himself helplessly. How’d they get so—cut off from in each other—in a few weeks?

“I’ll grow it again, then,” James assures him. “First thing tomorrow.  Promise. Just for you.”

“You do that, lad.”

The rest of the drive passes in relative silence until they’ve nearly reached Robbie’s flat. Then—

“Robbie,” comes a voice.

“Yeah?”

“I just like saying your name. Out loud. To you. Robbie.”

 Robbie is amused. “You’re not exactly compos mentis, are you now?”

“Latin! You speak Latin! I never knew. ” James seems overcome with delight.  Like an alien on a strange planet who’s found a fellow life-form to communicate with. Robbie feels strangely sorry to let him down.

“No, you know I don’t. Compos mentis. Alibi. Adeste Fideles. Dulce et decorum est. That’s your lot.”

“That was fantastic,” James says loyally.

“Made sense to you, did it?”

“Well.” The frown is back again.

***

They’re sitting on Robbie’s couch, Robbie keeping James company with a matching glass of water. He should probably send him off to bed in his spare room but it’s kind of nice just sitting here again, James lolling contentedly against him. He doesn’t want it to end just yet.

“What’s it like then—your new department?” he asks.

Your new boss, Robbie wants to ask, what’s he like? Is he decent to you? Does he know how to spot when you’ve been overdoing it and pull rank and send you home at a reasonable hour?  Does he have the slightest idea how bright and dedicated and loyal and kind-hearted you are and what kind of a rarity he’s got in you? Does he know how nearly you left and that he needs to keep an eye that you don’t get over-immersed in cases?

Well, thankfully the cases James will pull now won’t be the harrowing, all-consuming cases he pulled when with Robbie, because he doubts Dearden has a flaming clue what he has in James.

“They’re okay.” James grimaces. “My boss, he’s quite stupid,” he confides. “Doesn’t get things. Ssh! Don’t tell him though. It’s a secret. I don’t think he knows that he’s that stupid.”

“I won’t,” Robbie promises. But his heart sinks.

James yawns beside him. “D’you mind if I turn in?” He looks pleasantly surprised when Robbie hands him his bag and wanders off to the bathroom. Robbie half expects him to just keep on wandering into the spare room when he’s ready and go to sleep. He isn’t surprised when he eventually hears him go in there.

Robbie only moved here while working his notice and he doesn’t actually think James has stayed over in this flat after a late night brainstorming on a case, or a late night drinking beer on the couch. Which is ironic, now that Robbie finally has a spare room to offer him. But James knows his way around. Helped Robbie move in, didn’t he?

Then James reappears, obviously ready for bed, clad in the t-shirt and cotton pyjama bottoms Robbie had packed, but carrying the spare-room bedding. Robbie is bewildered. “What are you at now? You can stretch out on a proper bed, you know.”

“But I want to sleep on the couch. Like old times.”

“Like–”

Oh, fair enough.

***

James lies back on the couch and humps his knees up under the blanket. Robbie leans against the windowsill and looks down at him. Bends to yank the bedding across to cover his bare feet. “Go to sleep.”

But James really hasn’t finished with tonight, not just yet. Turns out he’s kept his best speech until last. “Laura,” he says meditatively.

“Laura?”

“Yeah. You and her. I mean, why…”

“Why, what?”

“Why? I mean she’s _lovely,”_ James says expansively, “but you didn’t look at her tonight like you—like you’re—”

How the hell did he manage to zone in on that? “We’re not—not any more. You know that.”

“You are and then you’re not, and now you’re not, so soon you’ll—are.”

It takes Robbie a moment to work that one out.  “No. After we gave it an actual go at last and it didn’t work—for either of us— we went back to being friends. For good. Good friends. But no more. We won’t be almost-trying or actually-trying that again.” He doesn’t know why he’s explaining this to a bloke who won’t remember.  Must tell sober-James this too.

“Ah.” James nods, pleased. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Good.”

Robbie wants him to elaborate. Which is pure stupid in the circumstances, surely, but he really wants him to. “Because?” he finds himself asking.  
              
“You’re not suited,” James informs him promptly. “She’s too small, for starters. You need someone taller. So you can rest your head against their shoulder when they hold you. Lean on them a bit. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Someone taller than you so you can feel a bit more protected. ‘Course you would,” he says confidently. “‘Cause you’re a lovely man and you look after people. Someone should look after you.  Definitely someone tall. And—” James pauses, thinking.

“Mad enough to take me on,” jokes Robbie, playing along. Lad really doesn’t know what he’s saying, after all. Does he?

“Clever enough to see what you’re like and snap you up, soon as they get a chance.” Which is what James had done, first chance he got, first case they worked on, it suddenly occurs to Robbie. Secured Robbie for his own. In a purely work capacity, of course, he tries assuring himself. But then he’d held on firmly right through all those years and everything they’d held, right up until Robbie had—left him. He feels suddenly stricken.

“You need someone kind,” James is musing now. “You won’t find anyone as kind as you, cause that’s impossible. Or as loyal as you either. Or as nonjudging…what’s the word?” He frowns briefly and then gives up. “As nonjudging. Or as forgiving.”

He gives a sigh. “Must be hard being you. You’ll never find anyone as lovely as you are, ever. But—” he cheers up a bit “—someone who really knows how lovely you are, they’ll do. Long as they understand they’re lucky to hold on to you. And if they come in in the morning and you’re there, the world is all to rights.

“Someone who knows that, when you stand like that, your back’s a bit stiff and they’ll want to massage it. So, if they can’t, they’ll just make sure you don’t sit still too long in the office.  Pester you to make the tea. Make up reasons to call you over to look at stuff on their computer. ‘Cause no-one can keep mentioning it or you get all grumpy ‘cause it makes you feel old. You’re not old. But make sure I pick pubs in the evenings where there’s seats with proper backs.

“And someone who knows those extra lines around your eyes mean you’re not sleeping, so they’ll bring you stronger coffee in the mornings and weaker in the afternoons and not let people bother you with things that don’t matter during the day.  And not really ask about it, ‘cause that annoys you too.

“But they’ll keep an extra eye on you then, in case something’s bothering you, and pretend they want to go for a pint to discuss a case just so you can have a chance to talk about it. If you want to. By the river. It’s easier to talk when you sit beside a river, isn’t it? Good thing they have pubs there.”

He turns on his side now, away from Robbie.  “Missed you, sir,” he says with a yawn, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

Robbie drops down on the arm of his little-used armchair. He feels a bit unsteady.

***

He doesn’t sleep for a long time that night, when he finally gets to bed. Too much to think about.  He’d noticed a fair amount of those little gestures, of course.  Well, maybe he hadn’t quite worked out about why James wheedled him to get the tea sometimes. He’d always rather enjoyed putting up a gruff resistance to things like that, and watching James’s persuasive tongue get him his own way in the end.

It was just hearing it all together, unmistakeably, like that, with all the warm intent suffusing it, and—well, James had sounded almost yearning. Like he badly misses doing that day to day stuff now. It suddenly puts his recent drawing back into a whole new context _._ Maybe, when it came right down to it, James couldn’t quite handle being left.

And then seeing him, how purely good it had felt to Robbie to see him and just have him physically _there_ again. Especially in that moment when his head had been gently turned into James’s neck. That’d felt—like he’d just wanted to stay there. Regardless of them standing in the middle of a pub, he feels like he wouldn’t have moved if James hadn’t then, so quickly, withdrawn.

He’d felt like a part of him that had been abruptly removed had unexpectedly returned tonight. An integral part whose absence he hadn’t quite taken in, removed while he slept, oblivious to its essentialness.

He misses chastising James for the minor stuff and knowing from the look in his eyes, above his irreproachably straight mouth, that it’s not actually working. He misses pretending to keep him in line. He misses the banter and the quips and the sudden lift of spirits he experiences when James’s dry wit brings a moment of levity amongst the depressing or the mundane.  He misses that sharp brain and the fact that James _gets_ things, gets Robbie, like no-one else on earth does.

It sort of makes sense that James had been unable to handle the change from one level of relationship to what might have felt like a lesser one. Robbie himself doesn’t want to establish a routine of occasional or even regular pints, after all; he wants James’s warm, inimitable presence back, every bloody day. That’s the thing, isn’t it? James is inimitable. He’s never going to manage to fill that gap with anyone or anything else. He doesn’t even want to try.

It’s been far more than a working relationship for years, between them, he knew that. Turns out they just needed to take away the scaffold and excuse of the work bit for the real shape of what it actually is to become glaringly obvious to Robbie. God, James has obviously been well ahead in understanding the real tenor of their relationship here. It’s how to show him that Robbie has finally caught up properly that’s going to be a challenge. Because James is obviously firmly in self-protective mode now, and so all the certainties that are crashing over Robbie tonight—well, maybe he’ll need to show James rather than tell him.

His late night book of revelations must be why James actually manages to wake up before him. Robbie wakes from his restless night to the sound of a slight clatter in the kitchen and the smell of coffee. He can’t help taking a moment just to lie there and grin to himself.

It’s sort of nice to hear the sounds of someone else there. It’s more than nice to know that that person is James. _And if they come in in the morning and you’re there, the world is all to rights._

Although—this is not exactly going to be James at his best. It’s unlikely that the paracetamol Robbie had left out will have made much of a dent in that headache.

***

“How are we feeling this morning then?” Robbie asks in sympathetic tones. James certainly looks miserable. The cafetiere is full, but he’s standing staring at the bag of ground coffee in his hand.

“I didn’t notice until I’d made it. It’s _decaff.”_ Miserable and indignant.

“Go an’ shower your head and you’ll feel a bit more human. I’ll make you some proper coffee while you’re gone.”

“Oh, that’ll work,” mutters James but he takes his bag when Robbie presents it to him, frowning at it, and retreats in the direction of the bathroom. Robbie chuckles at the tone. Sarcasm restored. He’s unsure whether that comment was directed at his coffee-making abilities or how restorative a hot shower might be, but he suspects it was both.

They sit at the table to drink the coffee. It’s a good idea because James is holding his head propped up on the steepled fingers of one hand. He’s ignoring the toast at his other elbow.  “Did I call you last night?” he asks.

“No, you ran into Laura.”

“Oh.” James frowns for quite a while, obviously struggling to catch hold of some elusive memories and then visibly giving up the effort. It’s a beautiful morning, but Robbie reckons the warmth and sunlight are rather lost on his breakfast companion. Robbie has his kitchen window open already for the breeze, and the background noise of someone’s mower is drifting in. James is actually wincing at any fluctuation in its rhythm.

“I tend to talk a bit when I’ve had a bit to drink,” he ventures.

“You’re not wrong there.”

“I remember bits, but I’m not sure—well, what was I actually talking about?”

“You gave me some advice on me love life.” James goes very still. “Yeah,” Robbie continues, “desirable characteristics in my ideal partner. Height requirements. That sort of thing.”

There’s an extremely long pause. “Anything else?” James asks his coffee mug.

“Something about massages and insomnia and rivers.”

“Right. Right.” James looks heartily thankful. Obviously thinking he’d simply ranted incoherently for a bit.

He doesn’t realise that he’d made absolutely perfect sense. And finally shed an unmissable beaming spotlight on what’s been so wrong with Robbie’s life, the past few weeks.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” James’s voice cuts into Robbie’s thoughts.

“Make you excellent coffee? And toast that you won’t touch?”

“Any of it. Come and get me, bring me here, have me to stay. I’m not—” He’s flushing miserably now “—your responsibility, any more, you know."

“‘Course you are, says Robbie softly. "And I’m still yours, all right? Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Wouldn’t be fair to ask James questions this morning, or have him trying to think through things with that sore head. But, regardless of what’s going to happen next with them, he hopes he’s got this one message through to him, all the same.

He reckons James looks like he might nod if that wouldn’t be too painful.

***

“Sure you don’t want a lift?” Robbie leans against the door jamb.

James gazes back inside at him. “I’d really rather walk. Think the air might help my head.”

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” Robbie enquires. James shoots him a look. “Yeah, I guess not,” Robbie says agreeably. “But no visits to the barber, mind.”

“What?”

“You promised,” says Robbie gravely.

“Okay,” says James helplessly.

Robbie breaks into a grin as he shuts the front door. Monday. He’ll give him until Monday.


	2. Back in Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Robbie first consults his best source of information and receives a bit of a talking-to himself. And then he tries his hand at a little old-fashioned courting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scheme Robbie volunteers for is in the Morse episode Driven to Distraction.

Monday

 

Robbie’s beginning to wonder how he ever found time to work.

His elderly neighbour is convalescing at the moment and her carer had told him how she gets bothered looking out at any signs of nature running amok in the garden. Or gardens. Front and back. So that’s his morning taken care of. As it turns out, it rather suits him to have a task today that will take any nervous energy, but leave him free to think. About this evening.

In the afternoon, he has his main project. One of the colleagues who’d preceded him into retirement has drawn him into the recently reinvigorated scheme from Robbie’s own sergeant days, for youngsters who’ve been in trouble for joyriding. It’d always made sense to Robbie—give them a chance to get it out of their system on the track and skidpans of a driving school and draw them in to more structured activities. But volunteering to give a hand there had rapidly become mentoring at the centre the teenagers were referred from. And that role’s already evolving in several different interesting directions.

He was meant to be heading up to Manchester midweek, but he’s put that off for a bit. There’s that course he’s starting at the local library. And more to the point, Robbie’s begun to hope that he has personal plans that need him to stay right here in Oxford.

It’s anticipating this evening that’s casting a pleasurable light across the thought of the whole day. It’s a feeling that—well, it’s reminding him of being a young copper in uniform back in Newcastle that first long summer he was courting Val and hoping all day he’d get to knock off on time to meet her. He doesn’t have the details worked out for his evening yet but he’s rather hoping his lunch appointment with Laura is going to help him with that.

Besides, there’s something he wants to know from Laura. About James. Something that really doesn’t fit.

***

Robbie waits, rather impatiently, throughout the queuing process until he and Laura have secured both sandwiches and an outdoor table. Then he launches right into it because he has the strangest feeling that he’s been played. “You and Innocent, Friday night, you were going on by taxi to a restaurant. The one you usually go to with her?” Laura nods now in confirmation. “Then you’d’ve practically passed by James’s. Why didn’t you just drop him off? He wasn’t dangerously drunk. Just needed seeing home safely.”

“Oh, I _see_. So that’s what you did then? Just saw him safely home?”

He’d walked straight into that one. “Well, I thought I might get the chance to talk to him in the morning,” he tries, “about going off getting drunk on his own. You know, if he stayed with me.”

“Yes, I’m sure he was perfectly willing and able to have a rational conversation the next morning,” Laura agrees. God, Laura can give James a run for his money in the sarcasm stakes when she really sets her mind to it.

“It was Jean’s idea, actually,” Laura is continuing. “You do know she was quite concerned about _you_ , when you and I called it a day?” Was she? No, Robbie didn’t know, but it makes him quite relieved that Innocent had been, because if Laura wasn’t the cause of her concern, then Laura must indeed be quite all right. Good to hear it from someone else.

“Although—she was regretting not taking the taxi option by the time you turned up. Anyway, when she suggested that I phone you, she was musing about two birds and one stone. Not the easiest to work with these days, is our James.”

“James?”

“Should have a sign on his back,” Laura mutters. “Does Not Play Well With Others.”

“He doesn’t like his new boss that much.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “There’s a huge surprise. Who could _possibly_ have predicted that might happen? Robbie, how did you think this would play out? He’d adjust to a new department just because he’ll doubtlessly be an asset? It’s not as simple as that. This might turn out to be a good move for him. I don't know. But first, he has to get used to a whole new team while he’s acutely feeling the lack of you. He probably comes up against the reality of your absence at every turn. Every time they do things a bit differently than you. And he’s too bloody loyal to you and your methods to accept change easily. God knows the two of you had a pretty unique working style. Everything must be different.”

It seems to be national “Make A Speech to Robbie” month. Innocent obviously kicked it off with her rather startling words of acclamation at his retirement do. “He doesn’t really have to have—the lack of me,” is all Robbie can think of to say. “He’s the one who hasn’t agreed to meet up. I sort of suggested it, a couple of times. Thought he was busy with the new department.”

“So what did you do then?” Robbie’s silence seems to provide her with sufficient answer. “You waited for him to initiate things.” She shakes her head. “You’re the one who left, you know. And you _know_ James. God, you’re enough to drive anyone to drink.” But her tone is kind enough to take any sting out of her words. “And did you go on to him about how much you’re enjoying your retirement, by any chance? Any idea how that might make him feel?”

He can feel the heat rising in his face. He’s beginning to grasp what effect his texts may have had on James. Laura confirms it for him. “It’s great, Robbie, honestly, that you are—enjoying your retirement—but—”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel the lack of him either,” Robbie mumbles.

“ _I_ know that. But d’you think James does? He was probably just at the end of a frustrating week, completely fed up and too bloody unsure and stubborn to pick up the phone to you. Hence one whiskey leading to another.”

Her words are shedding further light on James’s recent withdrawal. Robbie could have unknowingly rubbed salt into the wound of his departure with those cheery updates. He can see how he could have given the impression that he was perfectly happy with all the changes retirement had wrought. And so James had assumed that he’d felt the change in their relationship far more keenly than Robbie did. And drawn back more. Self-preservation. James’s specialty.

Laura is gazing at him, impatient. “So, what are you waiting for now, Robbie Lewis?”

“Don’t want to give him the chance to turn me down. A text is too easy to turn down.” He sees that she’s looking as if she’s trying very hard not to smile. She seems to be picking up more than he’d actually intended her to. “What?”

She straightens her face. “Nothing. Nothing. Anyway, luckily, you do happen to know where he works, don’t you? Surprise him. Ambush him there.”

“What, hang around the station car park this evening and let them all think I’m at such a loose end already I’ve come back to loiter around me old haunts?”

“Which d’you care about more?” She makes a good point.

***

“—oh, there he is. Well, it was good to see you again, sir.”

Robbie hadn’t mentioned he was here for James. He looks after Gurdip, surprised, but is distracted by James’s approach. James is certainly looking surprised. Thankfully not looking ambushed.

“Sir? _Robbie._ Is everything okay?”

“Just fine, lad. How’re you?”

“Fine.” He doesn’t look fine. Robbie narrows his eyes a bit at him. “All right, fine apart from a rotten headache,” James qualifies.

“What—still?” Robbie is alarmed.

“No, it’s a new one.”

“Ah. Brought on by the stupidity of your colleagues by any chance?”

“Something like that. And the glaring lights in that office. I mean it’s _daylight_. And they don’t understand about fresh air coming through open windows. And some idiot’s changed the coffee in the canteen to something weaker.”

Robbie's not fooled by the petty nature of the complaints being voiced. He understands that James’s world, rather like his own recently, is just not to rights. Just easier to put your finger on all the little things, isn’t it?

“Well, come on, then,” he says. “Let’s get you some of that fresh air. I’ll buy you fish and chips and we can sit by the river. We’ll even get you a proper coffee.”

James is looking at him with his head a little on one side. It seems to take an age for him to take it in. Then his face clears. “ _Not_ coffee from the fish and chip place?” he checks. For all the world as if his entire decision about whether to accept depended on the provenance of the coffee.

Robbie grins at him. “Perish the thought,” he says gravely. Years of close acquaintance with James’s caffeine habit have taught him a thing or two. “No, proper coffee,” he promises. “After.”

He has the feeling that the small, but definite smile, he gets might be the first to grace James’s face all day. He feels rather stupidly proud.

***

He feels even more pleased when, after they’ve finished eating, James relaxes back on the bench, gazing at the river and looking more like himself.

“How’s the head?”

“Better.” James looks surprised to find that’s true.

Robbie takes a breath and starts: “This going off drinking whiskey by yourself—” And he stops. James has stiffened, is gazing straight ahead now. The last thing he wants James thinking is that he’s here to have a word with him over that. Here as his old governor. He wants to be put in a different box in James’s head now, is trying to let James know it’s really okay to do that. He changes tack. “Didn’t mean to make you feel you ashamed, James,” he says gently. “Just don’t much like the thought of you drinking alone. Perfectly good drinking companion here, you know. Any time. No questions asked. If that’s what you want.” _I’m hoping you still want much more._

Some of the tension seems to go out of James’s bearing. Robbie watches him, as he watches the river for a moment. _It’s easier to talk when you sit beside a river._ Well, there’s something else he remembers from Friday night, even if James doesn’t, that he needs to clear up. So he really hopes the river can work its influence here. “Had lunch with Laura today,” he says.

“Mmm, she said.” James is non-committal.

“It was—I like being able to meet her for lunch. We’re re-establishing our friendship as such. We’re not—by mutual consent, we won’t be trying for any more than that again.”

“And that’s okay with you?” James asks sympathetically, turning to look at him.

“It’s fine,” Robbie says, hoping that James can read how sincere he is. He’d obviously made a fairly bad job of explaining this, back when he and Laura actually broke up.

“That’s —” James stops. _Good,_ Robbie supplies silently. _Good._ But all the guards are back in place so James just nods ruefully. If he didn’t know better now, Robbie would’ve sworn that the rueful nod was just sympathy for him. Rather than—what? James realising that Laura is no longer a barrier but just assuming Robbie won’t ever think of him that way? He wonders what other little tells he’s misinterpreted over the years. It all seems so bloody obvious now. Painfully obvious. Painful because he has a horrible feeling that he may have missed things and ridden roughshod over James’s feelings.

James is silent beside him, equally distracted. Then he suddenly turns the same look of mildly injured betrayal on Robbie that he used to reserve for moments when a particularly tedious task landed on his desk. “You might’ve told me about Innocent.”

Unfortunately Robbie had been so preoccupied all weekend with James’s speech to him that he’d not given much thought to the one to Innocent. If he had, he’d have sent a warning text to James before this morning. “I only caught the grand finale,” he says apologetically. “She did say she wasn’t going to raise it.”

“I ran into her first thing this morning. She just said Ser- _geant._ And kept on walking right past me. That was all. You know the way.” Robbie does. All too well. “And then I remembered she was there Friday night. But I couldn’t really remember what I’d said.”

“Well, there were some plus points, you know. Laura said she was well pleased you think she’s a sterling example of the integrity that’s so often sadly lacking in those in higher positions in our society. Although she wasn’t half as happy to be told all about how her bureaucratic tendencies stifle your more creative inspirations.” Laura had immeasurably cheered Robbie up, at the end of lunch, by filling him in on the highlights. He can’t remember the last time he’d laughed that much.

James scrubs a hand across his face. “God, I can get pompous when I’m drunk,” he mutters.

“You weren’t pompous with me,” Robbie assures him truthfully. “It’s just you were conducting a performance review, you see. With Innocent.”

“I know,” says James briefly. “Dr Hobson. Every time I met her today she quoted another line at me. From what I’d said to Innocent. And I just kept on meeting her.”

Robbie grins. He can quite picture Laura livening up her working day by terrorising James in the corridors. “Want me to tell her to lay off my sergeant?” James looks at him. _Oh._ _Right._

“To lay off you,” Robbie says softly. “You.” James’s eyes widen slightly.

“No, I’m sure she’ll run out of material fairly soon,” he says. But his tone is abstracted and he’s gazing at Robbie. Robbie feels a slight heat in his cheeks.

“Come on,” he says, rising abruptly, “it was coffee you wanted, wasn’t it?” James gets up to follow him, but he’s still looking rather startled. He’s uncharacteristically quiet as they head back towards one of Oxford’s busier thoroughfares. Robbie waits until they’re almost at the end of the street and then he places a hand lightly on the small of his back, to direct him sharp left down a narrow alley.

It’s easy to do because James responds to the slightest movement of his hand, turning without breaking stride. They’ve fallen straight back into walking in step, Robbie realises.

“Ferretting out a crime scene, sir? Having withdrawal symptoms?” This isn’t one of Oxford’s most salubrious alleys.

“Shut up,” Robbie tells him cheerfully, before removing his hand to bang on a heavy steel door. When the door eventually opens, a young man in a kitchen uniform silently hands Robbie two plain lidded cardboard cups, winks at James, and then disappears behind the firmly closed door once more.

“Oh, what the hell?” James looks as if someone has just performed a magic trick.

“One of the lads at the centre. He has his placement as a trainee sous-chef here—that’s the kitchen to a posh Italian restaurant. He swears they do the best coffee ever, and his head chef would just be amused. So I told him to prove it. Arranged it with him this afternoon.” Robbie gives a chuckle of pure enjoyment at James’s confusion. “Here, this one’s yours; I told him how you like it. Well, come on then, let’s go find another bench.”

James follows him silently back to the main street and sits down beside Robbie on indeed another bench. “How’d you know I’d really want a proper coffee?”

Robbie snorts. “You always really want a proper coffee. It wasn’t hard to predict.”

“But you planned it.” James is looking at him searchingly now.

“Yeah.”

“So you weren’t just at the station for something and decided to—”

“No.” Robbie is taken aback. How come Gurdip had grasped that Robbie was there for James, and yet James hadn’t let himself assume that that was it? “I came for you,” he says, frowning now.

“You—that’s—” James shakes his head “—thank you.”

“That’s all right.” _It’s just a coffee,_ Robbie is about to add. But he stops himself just in time. For one thing, it is bloody good. And James isn’t thanking him for the coffee, as such. James is looking at him like he’s done something much bigger, and if he’s managed to be the one to make James feel that Robbie is properly looking out for him, that Robbie really cares, is really thinking about him, can’t bloody stop now, in fact—well, maybe that might get across what Robbie’s trying to do here.

There’s an odd moment of silent hesitation between them back in the station car park, when they part at Robbie’s car. “Wednesday?” Robbie asks rather abruptly. He doesn’t think he needs to say anything else.

James gives a nod. Then he cocks his head sideways, gazing at Robbie for a moment. He looks—enquiring. As if he’s trying to work something out. To puzzle out some thought. And whatever he’s puzzling at, it seems to be bringing an underlying pleasure to his expression.

 

 

Wednesday

 

“You still on for this evening, lad? The Trout, maybe?” Robbie’s waited until James is probably on lunch break to ring his mobile. He’s been anticipating making the call with a distinct feeling of pleasure. And, if he’s strictly honest here, a distinct feeling of nervousness.

“D’you mind if we don’t?” And right up until this very moment, he hadn’t realised quite how much he’d wanted James to agree. He’d already been visualising sitting looking across a table at him again, lost in their own animated discussion against the background of other people’s chatter, or just silently contemplating the world and their pints outside by the river. His evening suddenly seems to stretch before him, that bit emptier.

But James is continuing: “I mean; could we get something to eat instead? I don’t mind driving. I—if you like—I could—pick you up?” He sounds sort of shy saying those last few words. Which should be ridiculous after all those years of giving and taking lifts. But what’s even more ridiculous is that the words are making Robbie once again feel the heat of a slight flush on his own face. Thank God he’s on the other end of a phone.

“Still on the spurious glamour, are you?” is he all he says.

“Yeah. Really don’t fancy seeing the inside of a pub just yet,” James says feelingly.

“All right. Anywhere in mind?” And then his instincts suddenly tell him what the best way forward might be here. “I’ll leave that up to you, okay?”

“Okay,” comes the surprised voice. Surprised and just possibly pleased, Robbie thinks.

It’s a bit different courting a bloke. Well, it’s not really courting a bloke. It’s just James, who happens to be a bloke. And Robbie might not be too experienced with the courting the bloke bit, or skilled at the courting bit in general, but he certainly is experienced with James. Who will have a shortlist of possible venues in his head, depending on what note he wants to strike. And what Robbie badly wants to know is: what note does James wants to strike?

***

James will have picked up on what Robbie’s intentions are at this stage, surely? Robbie’s rather deliberately given him the time since Monday to think about it, take it in. He doesn’t know the restaurant when they get there, but it turns out James has made a booking.

And the choice of restaurant, much to Robbie’s chagrin as he glances around, provides precisely no leads. It’s not obviously intimate, but it’s not exactly casual either. It is Italian, which James knows Robbie likes. The layout of the tables makes a difference, he realises once they’re sitting. Spaced out enough to be conducive to private conversations but not so much that it’s too quiet. There’s a pleasant hum of background noise. And the overall atmosphere is just nicely encouraging, starting to put Robbie at ease. It’s an unassuming but slightly hopeful choice. Just like James.

James looks a bit paler than usual still. It might be just the slight shadows cast by the warm lighting of the wall sconces. But he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping too well, either. Maybe it’s still the effect of Friday night. “D’you want me to pick you a wine?" he asks Robbie suddenly. “They do a few nice ones by the glass here, so if you know what you’re eating, I could…”

Robbie had been planning on keeping him company on his alcohol avoidance but he suddenly _does_ want James to choose a wine for him. Wants to say yes to him when the offer had seemed a slight leap for James to make. And besides, he’s just realised that he might have to be the one to push things forward between them, all right. Well, he’s bloody grateful that James isn’t his sergeant any more in that case. But the realisation certainly makes him want a drink.

Once they start talking, James seems to relax. And they’re just back to themselves; Lewis and Hathaway, now Robbie and James. Whatever else is going on around, or even between, them, the ease of their personal shorthand and the shared humour is always a constant. They’ve never lacked for conversational topics. And they’ve always failed to maintain much physical distance. You could probably have dropped the two of them in here at any time in recent years and they would have had a similar evening. And probably looked to all intents and purposes like they might be on a date, it suddenly occurs to Robbie. But it’s just fun. It’s just a fun evening. It’s when the bill comes that things start to shift around a little again.

James is rather vehement at first “I asked you— _invited_ you.”

“You’re still on a sergeant’s wages,” Robbie protests. Distracted. Wondering about that sentence that had veered off course. _Were you going to say you asked me out?_ “And I had wine that you didn’t.”

“Well, you’re a pensioner. And I chose this place.”

“It was a good choice. So, let me this time and you can next time.” That seems to very effectively stop all argument from James.

***

James doesn’t seem to want the evening to end any more than Robbie does. He’s dawdling slightly as they retrace their steps to his car, back in the thinking mode that had sometimes caused him to drop briefly behind Robbie as they followed leads wherever they took them around Oxford. Robbie looks back at him. Then he comes to a halt and takes James’s arm, pulling him down beside him on the low wall in front of a college. James puts up no protest. He just stretches out his legs and then draws them back when he realises the length of them is presenting a barrier to every other pedestrian. He does look worn out, even in the reduced light of the rapidly building summer dusk.

“D’you think it’ll be all right, for you—the new job?” It suddenly seems easy just to ask. James shrugs quite openly, his shoulders brushing against Robbie’s as they move up and down. He probably genuinely doesn’t know the answer to that.

So Robbie asks the question that’s really in his head ever since hearing Laura’s thoughts on all James has to get used to in his new post: “You angry at me, James?”

“What?” James is turning to look at him, honestly bewildered. “Why?”

“For leaving.”

“No. _No._ You look better than you have in years. I mean, your back’s at you a bit, isn’t it? Are you lifting things down at that centre? And you look a bit tired. You wouldn’t want to throw yourself into all these new pursuits too hard, you know. But underneath that, you just look—better. Less stressed. More vital—and engaged. Sort of happier.”

 _That’s because you’ve only seen me this week. And a lot of that is you. These past few days. It’s thinking about you._ He takes a moment to get his thoughts back on track. He does need James to understand what he’s trying to say here. “I am. Less stressed. But even if it’s the best thing for me, you’re still allowed to mind that it wasn’t the best thing for you. Still okay to be angry at me you know.”

James really looks like the idea hadn’t quite occurred to him before. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly. But he’s a bit less certain now.

“Well, feel free to have a proper go if you figure out you are,” says Robbie magnanimously. “Any time. Then you can buy me dinner after to apologise.”

James gives a small breath of a laugh. He looks like he’s thinking about it, though. Then his expression changes suddenly. Robbie studies him. He’s generally well able to tell the difference between a smile and a smirk on James’s familiar features. Far more accurately than anyone else could, he likes to think. But this is either a smirk, with a hint of genuine delight, or a smile with a hidden agenda.

“I could always _make_ you dinner,” James says, after a moment. “Friday evening. Just to be on the safe side. Could be failing to access my inner fury at you, after all.”

Robbie tries to conceal the extent of his own pleasure. “That would probably cover it,” he agrees.

 

 

Friday

 

It’s a cooler, rainy evening. Rather overcast. Robbie arrives with a good bottle of red wine—he might not have James’s knowledge for matching it to food but he has picked up a few reliable names—and an undeniable feeling of nervousness. It’s proved rather hard to concentrate today. On anything. He’s just relieved to be here now despite the nervousness; as soon as James opens the door he feels a slight grin start to steal across his face, an unstoppable reflection of the pleasure in James’s expression.

Then James is standing back to let him in, reaching around Robbie to close the door, brushing against him and leading him into the flat. He draws the proffered wine out of the paper bag and raises an eyebrow slightly, appreciatively at the label. “I have this one already open. It’s white so it’ll go better. We could—keep yours for later.” He seems quite casual. As if it’s their habit to drink wine rather than beer. To plan to start with one bottle and speak of opening another. As if this is just one of those normal Friday evenings they used to have when a pint after work led to another one and a takeaway at one of their flats. It really isn’t.

And that's not just because of the somehow familiar tantalising aroma that’s coming from the oven, or the more formal neatness of James’s small flat—the breakfast bar is actually all cleared and set—it’s really that smile of pleasure they shared when they saw each other.

“It’s a fish pie,” James clarifies. “You like that, don’t you?” Robbie is surprised. It’s more traditional than the sort of cooking he reckons James usually does. It’s also something he hasn’t had homemade in more years than he cares to remember.

“Frivolous piped mashed-potato decorations and all?” Robbie asks.

James looks rather delighted that he’s remembered. “Thought I couldn't go too far wrong if I made something you’d generally be taking from the freezer aisle and sticking in your microwave. I was bound to look good by comparison,” he says gravely. Robbie rolls his eyes obligingly. Secretly, he’s rather delighted at the thought that’s gone into this.

***

When they’ve eaten James’s rather elaborate but utterly enjoyable fish pie, watching the rain stream down the French windows, and cleared in rather companionable fashion, the half-finished bottle of white wine gets returned to James’s fridge. Apparently James feels red wine might go better with the next part of the evening. Robbie casts a glance out the front window at his car as they make their way to the couch. It can stay there for the night. Robbie’s only really thinking about this moment right now and James, settling close beside him. He turns to look at him. It strikes him afresh that James still looks very tired. This whole idea of giving him time to adjust in work is quite hard to do if it’s having this sort of effect. What if this move was the wrong one and it somehow makes things worse for him?

“How’ve you found this week?” Robbie blurts out, frowning a bit at him.

“This week?” James stares at him, the heat stealing up into his cheeks. He looks taken by surprise. “It’s been—" He stops. “You mean work, don’t you? Better,” he continues, neutrally, “better as the week went on. Gurdip really rates these new programs, he explained a bit about their potential.”

“That was good of him,” says Robbie. _You thought I meant us. Doing this._ It emboldens him. He takes a deep breath and aims for very casual. “So, by my reckoning, it seems to be every second night. So. Sunday? That’s our next—date night?”

James studies the depths of the wine glass in his hand. It’s full still. So is Robbie’s. But James gets up all the same, eyes carefully averted, and picks up Robbie’s glass too, heading for the kitchen area. “I’ll just—”

It’s so sudden. It takes Robbie completely by surprise. The bottle is visible on the breakfast bar. But when James gets there, he puts both glasses down carefully and then leans both hands on the edge, his head bowed, his back to Robbie. Robbie is up in a hurry and over to him, standing right beside him, trying to get a look at his face, his hand reaching out to grasp James’s shoulder. “James?”

“Don’t,” says James’s voice, softly.

Robbie drops his hand. He’s not been wrong about this past week, he _knows_ he’s not. It may have taken him a while to get here, but he knows now. But beyond any of that, he’s gone and upset the lad, overwhelmed him somehow, and it doesn’t matter what else is going on, Robbie can’t really handle that. “James. Turn around, would you? I’m sorry. For saying that—”

James raises his head and turns slowly to face him. He’s close to Robbie. Very close. “No. I just—it sounded like a joke. I wasn’t sure—”

“It’s not a joke. D’you not think—what we’ve been doing the past week—”

“I do. When I’m with you. It’s just in between —I didn’t want to think that it was true. In case that wasn’t what you meant. After all.”

Oh, God. The last thing he’d wanted to do was confuse him. Torment him. He should’ve guessed this, the way that James dwells on things. That doubt would creep in when he’s alone. James has been fighting off these feelings for too long. No wonder he doesn’t trust his own perceptions now.

“Look.” Robbie raises his hand again, bringing it to James’s cheek this time. He fits his palm along the slight curve of it, his hand shaking a little. He brings the other hand up and does the same.

James’s eyes, darting about a little, as he searches Robbie’s face, slow down; and then still. They come to rest, fixed on Robbie’s. “Okay?” Robbie asks, his voice catching a bit and emerging very husky.

 _Yes,_ say James’s eyes.

“Okay,” Robbie confirms, his voice barely audible to himself now and he lets one hand drift around to the back of James’s neck, drawing him towards him a little closer as Robbie leans forward to meet him.

It’s very hesitant at first, tentative. Then James’s warm hand is up on Robbie’s shoulder, pressing him just a little closer, and they’re deepening the kiss, Robbie’s feeling it quicken and transform to something more sure, more yearning, and then James’s mouth is claiming Robbie’s urgently. His hands are roaming around Robbie’s back, his shoulders, his neck. It’s James. It’s dizzying. The dim rain-filtered light in the flat somehow seems very bright when Robbie finally opens his eyes. They’re both a little breathless.

“Come on, you,” Robbie manages. He leads James to the couch, one hand reaching behind him, finding James’s without looking.

James comes very willingly. He settles himself sideways, one leg tucked up under him, facing Robbie, starting to gesture already and talking rapidly. “I did mean to say that this week, it’s been wonderful. It was only the bits in between when I couldn’t—”

Robbie reckons James is a bit too far away, with all his endearing, earnest explanations. He moves along a little closer and rests his arm along the back of the couch. “You didn’t sleep so well, thinking about all this, did you?” he realises.

“It kept going round my head. Replaying it. I’d convince myself I was wrong, and then I’d remember something else you’d said this week, or more how you’d said it, and think I was right, but—”

“Ah, _James._ ” Robbie couldn’t feel much guiltier about this. “Look—we’re just going to have to make sure you have some good clear memories, then. Ones that even you can’t doubt. Like this,” Robbie suggests, letting his hand move towards the enticing back of James’s long, warm neck again because, God, does Robbie crave more of that glorious dizzying sensation.

He’s almost forgotten what he’d just said by the time they break apart again. He’s ceased to have many coherent thoughts altogether. Until James murmurs dazedly: “Like that, yes, that’ll do it. That—or—maybe, just—do that again?”

Robbie obliges. “That—oh, that’s memorable, all right,” James mutters in disbelief.

He’s not wrong. Maybe it’s all the building anticipation of this week that is making things so intense. Maybe it’s the rain streaming down the windows and the feeling that there’s only the two of them left in this shadowed underwater space. Or maybe it’s just the accumulation of all that physical closeness, over all those years, finally unleashed.

James seems to be just as stunned as Robbie by how this is developing. “Seriously,” he asks, his eyes wide and startled, “What did I _say_ when I was drunk?”

But Robbie just chuckles and then moves his head slightly, capturing his mouth once more and distracting him very effectively. He thinks about it, though, what James had said a week ago, once they’ve fallen back apart again and he has James held close into his side now, James resting his head on Robbie’s shoulder, a hand on Robbie’s forearm, fingers rubbing gently back and forth.

Robbie’s not ready to tell him the conclusion that he’s come to about what James said last Friday night. The impact it had had on Robbie. Not just yet. Time enough for that later.

He lets himself think it, though, as he has already, quite a few times over the course of the last week: _I think you said you loved me._


End file.
